


Letters Home

by Giglet



Category: The Sting (1973)
Genre: 100-1000 Words, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giglet/pseuds/Giglet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Messages on different types of paper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters Home

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how Johnny must send home money to Alva, when he's got it. And how Henry recognizes the difference in their ages even if Johnny doesn't.

Hooker was laboriously writing an address on an envelope. He looked up, startled, when Henry walked in.

Henry gave him space, turning away to hang his coat on the hook. Henry said casually, "Looks like Park's going to take the bait. Seems he's asking around about us."

Henry could hear the smile in his voice as Hooker said, "Asking the right people?"

"All the right people," Henry replied, grinning back at him. All the right people were either bought or grifters themselves. Either way, the mark would hear nothing but good about Henry's character and slightly-shady rumors about Hooker's. Henry was playing insideman to Hooker's roper this time, and they had to transfer the mark's loyalty to him before the sting. Next time, Henry had promised, he'd rope and let Hooker be the sole insideman. Hooker would be in charge of hiring a manager, keeping accounts, of deciding how to play the mark, and paying off the fixer, the boost, the manager, and Henry, as the roper.

Henry and Hooker might be partners, but they kept their money accounts separately.

Henry wandered over to the window, glancing at the desk as he passed. Hooker's handwriting was blocky and awkward. That could be a tell they could use on this mark, Henry thought, but Johnny would need better handwriting when it was his turn to play the inside. More immediately, Henry read the address.

"You still keep in touch with Alva, huh?"

"'Course I do," Hooker said. Three months ago, he'd have said a lot more, about what he owed to Luther and Alva, about how they'd practically raised him, and he would have been touchy and defensive about it. But he'd finally learned that Henry wasn't going to give him grief -- at least, not for taking care of his own.

"Mind if I add a note of my own?"

When Hooker shook his head, Henry waved him away from the desk and sat down. Out came the fancy fountain pen, out came a sheet of paper. Henry wrote swiftly, knowing that Hooker was watching the neat copperplate script and the speed of his writing. If Hooker wanted to play a well-educated rich man, he'd need to write like one. Like Henry did.

He wrote mostly platitudes, knowing that Hooker was reading over his shoulder -- hope this finds you well, mutual friend J.H. thriving in the business, expect to stay in Grand Rapids for several months, best to Louise -- and signed it with a completely illegible scrawl. As the ink dried, he pulled out his wallet.

"It's hard for Alva to pass big bills," Hooker volunteered. "People ask questions."

Henry considered saying that he already knew that, but he'd had to nag and badger and fight to get Hooker to tell him the things Henry needed to know. He wasn't going to shut Hooker down, now. So he just nodded, and pulled out a few twenties.

The bills were folded into his note, the note went into the envelope, where Henry pretended he didn't notice the green sticking out of Hooker's letter. He looked up at Hooker, who nodded, before sealing the envelope.

He tapped a fingernail down against it, pensively. They'd taken Lonnegan, and it had felt great, but sometimes Henry wish they could've done more. It didn't begin to make up for the loss of Luther Coleman. Luther wasn't the first friend he'd lost, but between that and his Federal rap, sometimes Henry got a creeping feeling that his generation was over the hill, that it might be time to hang up the rackets and retire before someone younger and sharper and armed with a badge caught up with him.

Hooker hand closed, warm, on his shoulder, bringing Henry back to the present. Hooker said, "I still miss him."

Henry nodded. He missed Luther, too. But he had Luther's last student here, and Hooker was bright and young and thought the world of Henry. Hooker still had some things to learn, and it was a lot of fun, teaching him. It wasn't time to retire quite yet.

Henry stood up and handed the envelope to Hooker. He said, "Come on, you can mail that and buy me a drink. And I'll tell you about how I first met Luther..."


End file.
